


La Familie d'un Ange

by Loki_Wholock



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 13:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10361541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Wholock/pseuds/Loki_Wholock
Summary: 2 cute, fluffy, rather long oneshots about Erik and Christine's life with their two children, 4 year old Genevieve and 2 week old Sebastien. Enjoy, @Luveverlark!!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luveverlark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luveverlark/gifts).



A/N--I wrote this while sleep deprived, it is edited but may still stink, and it's not formatted consistently or correctly. I apologize for that. It bugs me too but I don't reallly know how to work this website yet. Hope you still enjoy!--  
1--A Morning at the Destler House  
It was past midnight, and Sebastien wouldn’t stop crying. He was only 2 weeks old, so naturally, both Christine and Erik were sleep deprived from his non-stop wailing. Christine forced herself to open her weary eyes and roll over to see if he was okay. Erik was a very protective parent and insisted that the baby slept in their bed with them. There was no point in arguing, and Christine stashed the new crib away in case he ever softened up.  
Christine found that Sebastien was curled up, freezing cold. Erik’s snores echoed through the dark-filled room, and he was a large lump on their uneven mattress, having stolen most of the blankets off Christine and all of them off Sebastien.   
“Erik,” Christine grumbled, gripping a corner of the blanket and yanking it off his body. She covered the tiny baby and rubbed his head, gently soothing him. When that didn’t work, she resorted to singing a soft lullaby. Little Sebastien’s cries gradually quieted until the only noise in the room was that of Erik’s growling snores. Christine shook her head but managed a small smile. “I’m sorry he’s so loud, Seb,” she whispered, stroking his cloud of fuzzy brown hair. Sebastien’s delicate chest fell up and down and his tiny fingers were curled up in fists. Christine fell back and stared at the ceiling. She felt wide awake now, though she knew she would end up sleeping all day tomorrow. With a sigh, she decided to get something hot to drink. Maybe that would help her fall back asleep.  
She rolled out of bed and stepped onto the carpet. A chilly gust of wind wrapped itself around her bare arms and she instinctively placed her hands over her arms and rubbed them, wondering why she wore short sleeves to bed. She grabbed her ivory robe from its spot on the closet doorknob, and put it on, blocking the draft. Christine crept downstairs after checking on her daughter, Genevieve, who was peacefully asleep in her own bed.  
She heated some water on the stove and stuck a tea bag in, a brew that’s supposed to help you fall asleep. Once it was made, she sat in the living room in the vermillion light of a burning candle, pondering what she would do tomorrow, if she didn’t end up in bed all day.  
Almost every one of the 15 cookies she had baked the day before had mysteriously disappeared. Her first suspect? Not the mischief-making four year old that was her daughter, but the cookie-obsessed 30 year old that was her husband. She’d have to make more so she would actually be able to taste them before they were all gone.  
Erik had been teaching Genevieve piano, and she was fascinated. But she would get antsy after a while and try to run away, and Erik would get frustrated. It didn’t always end well, but she was making progress at any rate. Maybe she’d see how Genevieve was doing at that.  
The baby needed full attention at all times of the day, so Christine didn’t have much time for anything else, unless she handed him off to Erik for a while. That wasn’t always good, as Erik hardly knew how to fold his own laundry, let alone care for a newborn. Christine was exhausted from running the household all day, but she loved her family too much to take a break and let chaos ensue.  
She had finished her tea and set the mug in the sink, then returned up the creaky stairs to her shared bedroom. When she took off her robe, the cold air once more engulfed her and rose goosebumps all over her arms. Christine looked around for the source of the draft. It wasn’t usually this cold.  
She walked over to the windows and found that one was open. A confused frown wrinkled her face. “Why is the window open?” she asked herself, shivering. Erik snored particularly loud and suddenly, startling her. She turned around and watched the baby anxiously, waiting for him to start crying. He remained asleep somehow, and she breathed a sigh of relief, before turning back to the open window. She found a sturdy place to grip it and tried pulling it shut. The window didn’t budge, but more cold air blew in and made her curl up, shivering. “Why is the window even open?” she muttered, trying once more to pull it shut. It was jammed, and she gave up. Christine hung a blanket over it as a makeshift curtain, then got back in bed, shivering. It took a little while, but she eventually fell asleep.  
[Later that morning…]  
“Mommy! Mommy wake up!”  
Christine’s tired eyes slowly opened and were met by the sight of two insistent blue eyes and a mass of curly brown hair. “Mommy!”  
“Genna, sweetie, Mommy’s tired,” Christine mumbled, closing her eyes again. “Wake Daddy up.”  
“Okay!” Tiny, fast footsteps made their way to the other side of the bed, and the bed creaked as Genevieve tried to shake Erik awake. “Daddy, wake up! I’m hungry!”  
Erik groaned in response and rolled over, nearly crushing Sebastien. “It’s so early,” he groaned.  
“No it’s not! It’s ten-fifteen o’clock!” Genevieve insisted, her small hands holding her father’s shirt in a death grip. “Come on, Daddy! I’ve been waiting for ten hours!”  
“Just a couple more minutes…”  
“Daddyyyyyy!!”  
“Oh, fine. I’ll be right there.”   
“Yay!” Genevieve raced downstairs. Erik rolled out of bed and stretched. His bedhead was rather comical, bits of ebony hair sticking up in all different directions. He clambered downstairs, where his daughter was sitting at the table expectantly. He gave her a small smile then looked around the kitchen. “What do you want to eat, Genna?” he asked, yawning.  
“Pancakes!” she cried, clapping. “With chocolate chips!”  
“Alright,” he sighed, taking a pan out. “It might take a while, though. I need to make the batter.”  
“Hmmf,” Genevieve grumbled. “Why does it take so long to make the patter.”  
Erik stifled a laugh. “The what?”  
“The patter.” Genevieve crossed her arms and frowned at him. “Why are you smiling?”  
“Because I love you so much, Genevieve.” He chuckled as he took out the eggs, deciding not to correct her. “Are you ready for your piano lesson today?”  
“Uuuggghhh,” she groaned, covering her face.  
“What’s wrong?” Erik frowned, studying her from across the room. “Don’t you love having your dad as a teacher?”  
“But it’s too long!” she said, gesturing vigorously with her hands. “I always get bored.”  
“Aw, I’ll try to make it a bit shorter then, how’s that?” asked Erik, stirring his concoction. “Then you won’t be so bored, huh?”  
“Yeah.”  
The peaceful, quiet air was disrupted by cries of hunger from upstairs. “Oh no, Sebastien is awake,” said Genevieve, plugging her ears.   
“You should be happy,” Erik said. “He’s your little brother! Don’t you love him?”  
“Yeah, but not when he’s always, always crying every day for ten-thousand hours just because he’s hungry!”  
“You used to do that,” Erik smiled, pouring some “patter” into the pan. “Mommy and I never got any sleep because you wouldn’t stop crying.”  
“Not true,” Christine said, entering the kitchen, rocking Sebastien, who had calmed down. “You would sleep right through it. I was the one who was always awake. You can’t calm a baby to save your life.”  
“What are you talking about? I’m great with babies,” Erik said, raising his eyebrows.  
“If you’re so great, calm him down while I cook pancakes,” Christine said, handing the crying Sebastien to Erik. Erik was surprised, but took the baby into his arms and rocked him.   
“Shhh, it’s okay, Seb, you’re okay, buddy,” he whispered, touching foreheads with his son, rocking him back and forth in his large, muscular arms. Sebastien continued to wail and flail his tiny arms and kick his little legs, blue eyes wildly looking around for Christine. Christine stood at the stove, flipping the pancake with an amused smile through the exhaustion that took over her face.  
Erik finally shook his head and held Sebastien out to Christine. “I can’t do this,” he admitted, avoiding eye-contact. Christine laughed. “Don’t hold him like that by the stove, Erik,” she said, taking him and rocking him gently. Sebastien’s crying quieted. “I’m going to feed him, he’s definitely hungry.” She carried Seb into the living room.   
Erik set the pancake on a plate and looked over to the table. Genevieve was gone. “Where did she go off to,” he muttered, setting the plate at her spot on the table. “GENEVIEVE!”  
“Erik, shhh,” Christine said from her chair in the living room.  
Christine’s shushing was blatantly tossed aside when “Chopsticks” began blasting from the piano in the music room across the house. Erik frowned and followed the noise. “Tell Genna to keep it down!” Christine whisper-shouted when Seb stirred. Erik found Genevieve banging away on the piano, trying to reach the pedal from her seat on the bench. She was too small.   
“Genny, shhh,” Erik said, scooping her up from the bench and carrying her into the kitchen. “Mommy’s feeding the baby.”  
“Why do I need to be quiet when he’s eating?” she asked. “I can eat when he’s crying.”  
“He’ll start crying if you play the piano so loudly,” Erik explained, setting Genevieve into her chair at the table. “Now eat your breakfast.”  
“Okaaayyy,” she mumbled, tearing off a piece of her pancake with her hands. Erik patted her head before going off to practice his violin, and maybe start a new composition.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
2--Erik: Mr. Mom  
There was a cold going around, and Christine was the first victim in the Destler house to be afflicted. She woke up sometime in the night because she found that she couldn’t breathe through her nose. Since then, it had only gotten worse: fatigue, headaches, sore throat, and occasional coughing. She didn’t want anyone else to catch it, so it was up to Erik to play the role of Mr. Mom.  
Christine lay in bed, not able to fall asleep, but too exhausted to get up and do anything. It was half past noon. Genevieve rushed into the room and burst into tears. “What’s wrong, Genna?” Christine asked, voice hoarse.   
“I don’t like Daddy’s tea!” she cried, stomping her foot. “It tastes so sour!”  
“Sour?”   
“Yeah! And it’s so dark!”  
Erik came into the room, cradling a sleeping Sebastien. “Look, Christine--”  
“Erik, what did you do?” she asked, brushing a curl of brown hair out of her face.  
“She asked for tea so I made her some, but she hates it!” he said. “I don’t know what to do!”  
“She hates it ‘cause you put three tea bags in each cup,” Christine said, shaking her head and pulling her blankets over over shoulders.  
“Well how does she like her tea?” he asked helplessly.   
“Only one teabag, two spoons of sugar, and some milk.”  
“Okay, okay!” Erik left, and Genevieve came over to Christine.  
“Mommy?” She pulled the covers away from Christine’s face.  
“I don’t want to get you sick, sweetie,” Christine said, gently pushing Genevieve away. “Go downstairs, Daddy’s going to make you nice tea.”  
“When will you be better?” Genevieve asked, pouting. “Daddy said he can’t make cookies and I want cookies!”  
“I don’t know, Genna, I need to rest. Make sure Daddy feeds Seb at two o’clock, okay? And he needs to burp him too. He takes a nap at three-thirty.”  
“Okay.” Genevieve nodded, and ran off. Christine closed her eyes once more and drifted into a light doze.  
Meanwhile, downstairs, Erik struggled to tend to his daughter’s needs and hold his sleeping son at the same time.  
“Daddy, I want tea!” Genevieve wailed.  
“I’m making it right now, Genny, you need to wait for the water to heat up, and be patient.”  
“I hate being patient,” she pouted.  
“The more you whine, the longer it will take, okay? I’m trying to take care of Sebastien too.”  
“Why don’t you just put him on the couch, he’s sleeping anyway,” Genevieve muttered. Erik looked over to the couch. It was big enough so he wouldn’t fall off.  
“Good idea, Genny,” he said, walking over and placing Sebastien down. Seb didn’t stir. Erik went back and turned the stove’s heat up. Genevieve looked up at the shiny kettle, her short stature not allowing for her to see over the counter. She reached out to touch the kettle.  
“No!” Erik grabbed her and yanked her away. “Don’t touch that, Genevieve, it’s hot. You’ll burn yourself.”  
“It’ doesn’t look hot!” she said.  
Erik softened. “Well it is. It’s made of metal, and metal heats up very fast and gets very hot,” he explained gently. “You can’t touch it, sweetie, okay?”  
“Okay Daddy,” she said, nodding. The kettle began to whistle. Erik made sure she wasn’t near the stove before shutting it off and pouring the steaming water into a mug. Genevieve watched with intense interest as Erik set one teabag in this time, poured a little sugar in, and some milk, then set it at Genny’s spot at the table.  
“There, I made it just like Mommy told me to,” he said, patting his daughter’s head. She sat down at the table and smiled at him. Her ponytail was loose and strands of hair fell over her face. “Daddy, can you fix my hair?” she asked, looking at him pleadingly. Erik stared at her mass of wild brown curls.  
“You have your mother’s hair,” he murmured.  
“Well can you fix my mother’s hair?”  
Erik laughed. “I don’t know if I can. I can try, but I’ve never really dealt with styling hair before…”  
He stood behind her and gathered all her hair up in a sloppy ponytail. He attempted to tie the hair-tie around the makeshift hairdo but it flung away, across the room. He looked around. “What just happened?”  
“Daddy, why is the rubber band over there?” Genevieve asked, pointing to the other side of the kitchen.  
“I can’t do this,” he said, letting go of her hair and going to retrieve the hair-tie. “I’m not good with this stuff, Genny. This is what Mommy does.”  
“But Mommy’s sick!” she cried. “Now who’s supposed to fix my hair?”  
A quiet cry came from the living room. Erik sighed.  
“Mommy said you need to feed Sebastien at two o’clock,” Genevieve said. “Then you need to burp him and give him a nap at three-thirty.”  
“Give him a nap?” Erik chuckled, making his way over to the crying baby. He lifted him and cradled him in his arms. “Quiet down, Seb, your poor mother’s debilitated…”  
“What debilititative?” Genevieve asked.  
“De-bil-i-ta-ted,” Erik said. “It means exhausted or weakened.”  
“Why do you talk in such big languages?”   
Erik laughed, gently bouncing Sebastien, who was starting to quiet down. “Grown-ups always talk in big languages,” he replied, smiling at her.   
“What’s so funny?” she asked, crossing her arms and frowning.  
“Nothing, Genny. Nothing at all. Go finish your tea, okay?”  
[Hours later, 3:30pm]  
“Is it only three-thirty?” Erik muttered to himself, rubbing his temple. He was exhausted already--how does Christine do this every day?  
Genevieve was banging away on the piano, which she called ‘practicing.’ Sebastien had chewed Erik’s shirt while he was holding him, and gotten drool all over. While Erik was busy with Seb, Genevieve managed to get baking flour in every corner of the kitchen and all over herself as well. He was still working on cleaning that up, and praying that she didn’t get any in the piano. He couldn’t leave Sebastien unattended, but Genevieve caused enough trouble for 3 kids. He was not cut out for being a single parent.  
Light footsteps came down the stairs, and Christine staggered into the kitchen. She looked a bit better, but still in a rather disheveled state. Her curls spiraled out of control, diving in all different directions. Her pale skin was even paler than usual, and her nose was red as her lips usually were. Her lips had faded and were swollen.  
“What are you doing down here?” Erik asked. “Go back to bed, Christine. You’re not well.”  
“It’s time for Seb’s nap, and I know how hopeless you are with putting him to sleep, so here I am to save the day.”  
“I am not hopeless!” he said.  
“You’re too defensive, Erik. Remember last time, when you tried to make him stop crying? You failed miserably.”  
Erik opened his mouth, but shut it again and pouted. “Be quiet. You’re acting like I’m the worst parent in the world or something.”  
“I know you’re not the worst,” she smiled. “Let me rock Seb to sleep, then I promise I’ll get back in bed.”   
“Do you need anything to eat or drink?” Erik asked, handing Sebastien over. “I can make you something hot for your throat.”  
“I’m fine, Erik.”  
“I’m making you tea.”  
“Erik--”  
“Your throat, Christine. You need hot tea.”  
“Fine. Only if it hushes you up so the baby can sleep.”  
Erik started heating another kettle of water, happy to help his wife. Christine and Erik then simultaneously realized that the piano playing had stopped and Genevieve was nowhere in sight. They made eye contact and understood each other without speaking.  
“I’ll go find her,” Erik said, leaving the kitchen. He went to the piano, but she wasn’t there. He saw his violin case opened and his violin was gone. “Oh mon dieu,” he whispered, turning sharply and running around to every other room downstairs, searching frantically for Genevieve. “Genny? Genevieve! Where are you! Do you have my violin?” he shouted.  
“Erik, quiet down!” Christine said from the living room. Erik went upstairs, straight over to Genevieve’s bedroom. He heard a faint, indistinguishable sound, and he guessed it was Genevieve, doing pizzicato on his violin. Her closet door was open. He took one large stride and peered in. There she sat, in her bin of clothing, holding his violin, gently plucking the strings. She looked up when he came in and her blue eyes widened. She jumped up and held his violin out. “Sorry Daddy!” she cried. “I was just wondering what it sounded like!”  
Erik sighed and took his violin. “You could’ve just asked me to play it,” he said, holding out his hand. Genevieve’s tiny hand disappeared into his, and he led her back downstairs. “You want to listen to my violin?”  
“Yes,” she nodded.  
“I’ll play for you,” he said, picking his bow up. He made sure the strings were all in tune, then began to play on of his own songs. Beautiful music poured off the strings and floated like silk through the air. Erik played expressively, giving all his emotion to the music. Genevieve was kneeling on the ground before him, staring at how smoothly his bow glided, taking in the composition.   
Christine gently rocked Sebastien in time with the music, and he fell asleep almost immediately. She smiled and laid him on the couch, making sure he was barricaded by pillows in case he somehow got too close to the edge.   
Erik finished, and the kettle began whistling. He set his violin in his case and removed the kettle from the stove. He prepared some tea for Christine, and walked over to the living room. She was watching her son sleep with a content look on her face. He handed her the steaming mug and she accepted it graciously. “Thank you, Erik,” she said, sipping it. The tea heated her throat and chest, soothing the scratchy pain that had taken over and smoothing out the congestion. She realized that she actually needed it, as it felt nice running down her sore throat. Erik wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head.  
“Erik, I don’t want to get you sick--” she started.  
“Shh, you’re okay, Christine,” he said, stroking her hair. “I won’t get sick.”  
She snuggled into him and allowed him to kiss her burning forehead. He stepped back and held her at his arm’s length, smiling. “Now go get in bed, you need more rest.”  
“I love you, Erik,” she smiled back, and went off, upstairs. Genevieve trotted into the kitchen.   
“Daddy?”  
“Yes, Genny?”  
“I want to play violin.”  
Erik broke into a grin. “That’s wonderful! I can teach you, but you’ll first need to get good at the piano.”  
Genevieve stuck out her bottom lip but nodded in agreement. “Okay, Daddy, okay. I’ll get better at piano.”  
“How about I go help you practice right now, as long as we’re quiet?”  
“Okay!” Genevieve followed her father over to the piano, ready to learn more.  
[Hours later, 6:30]  
“I’m hungry, Daddy, can you make me dinner please?”  
“Okay, I will, if you can supervise Sebastien in the living room.” Erik set Seb on his back on a soft blanket in the living room. Genevieve sat next to her baby brother and pet his soft head. “He has Mommy’s hair too,” she said. “But it’s straight like yours.”  
“You’ve both got my eyes,” Erik said, searching the fridge. “You have Mommy’s smile too, Genny. Beautiful smile.”  
Genevieve was pleased with that. Erik pulled out a fresh apple and found a knife in the cutlery drawer. He sliced it up into small pieces and put it on a plate for Genevieve. “Don’t tell Mommy you’re eating in here,” he said, handing it to her in the living room.  
“Okay,” she said, taking the plate. Erik was proud that he wasn’t letting anything get out of hand. He heated up some formula for Sebastien, since Christine wasn’t there to feed him. He made sure he burped him after, as Christine’s always nagging him about that.   
After dinner, he helped Genevieve get all ready for bed, and tucked her in. He washed Sebastien and laid him in bed next to Christine. He went back into Genevieve’s room. She was still awake, bundled up under her covers, staring at the ceiling. She looked over as her father entered.  
“Hi Genny,” he said softly, striding over to her bed. She smiled at him.  
“Hi Daddy.”  
“Do you need me to read to you?”  
“That’s okay, Daddy, you can go to bed. I can fall asleep by myself tonight.”  
Erik smiled and stroked her dark curls. “I love you, Genevieve. Goodnight.”  
“I love you too, Daddy. Goodnight.”


End file.
